Self Reflection Is Hard

20180406_204939.jpgI’ve realised that it’s so hard to confront myself. To look inside and share what’s there.Of course, some of it’s fear, that I won’t like what I’ve found, that you won’t like me anymore. I can hide parts of myself that I don’t know quite what to do with inside works of fiction. I’ll tell you all my nasty little secrets there. But that’s because that’s a safe place. You don’t know what’s real and what’s fake. And I don’t have to explain it either. I don’t know if that still counts as a reveal but for now it’s the best I can do.

In the writing group I’m in, we’re sometimes challenged with writing about ourselves, our feelings, thoughts, fears and dreams. And I struggle. I sometimes “cheat” by turning it into a fiction post but to be brutally honest, to open myself up like that is terrifying. I’ll make it clear it isn’t real, I’m purposefully reinterpretting the prompt to fiction rather than a self reveal to save myself. I suppose, hiding it in fiction isn’t cheating, the real me is in there somewhere. Sometimes buried deep down, sometimes floating on the surface. Maybe it’s all real to a degree.

Being completely open has backfired on me before. I opened up because I thought the person I was entrusting with my heart was good. Turns out my judgement was bad, so I don’t always trust myself to make good choices with my emotions. I’m not as in touch with them as I should be. We’re not close friends, more like Facebook acquaintances.

However, I am getting better. I’ve found writing regularly, drawing from my emotions and experiences, as abstract as that is sometimes, I’m getting more confident about what I write. It’s still hard. It’s hard to look in a mirror and really see what’s physically there. It’s even harder to look inside myself and admit what is there too lurking in the dark depths.

I am a flawed, broken person that is trying to find something better in myself and in this world.

I am a harsh critic of how I put myself out there into the world but I also don’t change myself because of that trepidation.

I have the confidence or ignorance to wear what I want, style my hair how I want, wear my face how I want, even when I think you won’t like it, I’ll still do it but be worried inside.

I am a mother, I try to do my best 100% of the time but probably only really reach 60%. I can do better. I must.

I am a wife that doesn’t always realise how good she has got it.

I am a good friend but I don’t like to get too close to people, I will love you at arm’s length (it’s me, not you).

I’m an OK writer who is getting better but needs to stop holding back because of what other people might think if they saw the things I really want to create.

I am me.

I need to look myself in the eye and admit that the good, the bad and the ugly all make me. That shouldn’t be fear I feel when I see that, when I realise that. It should be pride and acceptance.

 

xx woeful writes xx

 

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